


Stakeout Story

by landrews



Category: Bones (TV)
Genre: Character Study, F/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-24
Updated: 2013-10-24
Packaged: 2017-12-30 09:03:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1016721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/landrews/pseuds/landrews
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Booth's on stakeout. Rebecca needs a friend. Both Tess and Bones have left their marks on him already.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stakeout Story

**Author's Note:**

> Bones S1- maybe roundabouts February? 
> 
> I'm grateful to Fox, Hanson, Josephson, et al for their interesting characters- no claims to ownership- 
> 
> This bit of dialogue intrigued me: 
> 
> Truth In The Lye   
> Verbatim dialogue-   
> Rebecca: There was that stakeout.   
> Booth: That wasn’t sex!   
> Rebecca: (smug) It was for me. 
> 
> I keep thinking, like Bones, “What does that mean?”

 

Booth’s slumped in a folding chair, staring at a brownstone entrance through his binoculars, which are poked between the half-cracked slats of the blinds of a fed rented apartment, when his phone rings. He snags it off the card table in front of him and flips it open without looking. “Booth.” 

There’s silence except for a little hitch of breath. He sits up and sets the binos down as he says, “Hello?” 

Silence. 

He glances at the lit screen and puts the phone back to his ear. “Rebecca?” She doesn’t answer, but her breath hitches again. Booth’s heart rate triples. “What’s wrong, is it Parker? Rebecca? Is Parker okay?” 

“Yes,” she breathes. “He’s fine.” 

Booth stands, anxiety moving his feet through the darkness of the apartment. “Where are you? Are you hurt?” 

“No,” she says, her voice stronger. “I’m sorry, Seeley, I just… I just needed, I don’t know, to hear your voice, I guess.”

“What’s going on, Rebecca?” 

“Nothing. I just… Brent stood me up again, Parker’s at my Mom’s.” 

“Oh,” he says. His shoulders drop. “Okaaay.” 

“I thought I’d work on Parker’s photo album a little, but then, y’know…” 

He doesn’t know, so he just paces back to the window, picks up his binos and checks on the brownstone. 

“I miss you, Seeley.” 

“I miss you, too, Rebecca,” he says before he thinks not to. And he does, but it’s been a long time and there’s no heat to the words. It’s just what they say to each other now, usually before … 

“Are you at home?” she says. 

“No, actually, I’m on stakeout.” 

“So I should hang up, now.” 

“No!” he says, his blood already rushing south, warming his belly. “No, it’s okay, I’m in an apartment across the street. The guy’s not even home, we’re waiting for him. It’s already been, like, a week. You ask me, he’s not gonna show, but we’re all pulling shifts anyway…” 

“Are you alone?” 

“Yeah, until three.” 

He gets her to park in a commercial garage in back and talks her through the back hallway maze until she’s knocking on the door. He tells her to hang on, flips his cell shut, and scans the sidewalks to either side of the brownstone, before he shoves the chair back and crosses the dark, empty room to let her in. In just four strides, he becomes very aware of the pleasant friction of his jeans across his briefs. He takes a calming breath before turning the knob. 

She’s wearing a plain white tank under her heavy faux fur and the brown slacks he likes. They’re fitted through the top and hug her thighs before flaring below her knee over her square-toed boots. He smiles and reaches for the six-pack she’s got in one hand. Guinness. Which means she’s really tight and ready to either rip his head off or ride him like there’s no tomorrow. He’s hoping for the ride, but braces for the rip. 

“You okay?” he asks, as he peeks out into the hall and then closes the door and locks the deadbolt. 

“I’m better, now. Thanks for letting me crash your stakeout.” 

“No problem,” he says. His cock pulses. 

She stands there looking at him and all he can think is ‘what the fuck am I doing’. He turns on his heel and slips the door’s lousy chain up. 

“You sure this is all right, Seeley?” 

He steps toe-to-toe with her, brushes her hair off her cheek, and tucks it behind her ear. “Yeah.” 

She’s looking up at him and in the ambient light thrown from the street below, he can see she’s cleaned off her make-up. There’s a faint shadow on her lower lids where her mascara ran from her tears. He slides his thumb over her cheek. “It’s fine,” he says and kisses her. 

There’s a crackle-squawk from the radio set up on the table by the window. She jumps and pulls away. He crosses the room as Grant says, “22493.” 

Miller replies, “22493, check.” 

“20551.” 

“20551, check.” 

“22075.” 

He sets the beer down with one hand as he picks up the handset with the other and keys it. “22075, check.” 

“21639.” 

“21639, check.” 

“Clear.” 

Rebecca says “Where are the techs? Why aren’t they here?” 

“Perp’s got three holes, there’s three teams and a rover.” He pulls a Guinness out of the carton and tries to screw the cap off before looking at it. “Damn. The kitchen’s not stocked. Wait, I know.” 

The bedroom door is closest. Too bad there’s no furniture. He props the cap in the strike plate on the frame and hits it sharply with the heel of his hand. The beer spews out in a foamy gush he has to leap back to avoid. “Here, drink,” he laughs. 

She takes the dripping bottle and sucks the foam off the top before tilting it up for a deep swallow. 

Booth swallows hard himself and pulls at the front of his jeans, nudging his swollen cock over with his thumb so he won’t emasculate himself later as it hardens. He just knows there’s going to be a later. He lets his thumb stroke down against his cock again before he lifts his hand. 

“Ahhh,” Rebecca sighs, lowering the bottle. Her skillful tongue licks Guinness from her lips. 

Later’s now, apparently, ‘cause he stiffens so fast it hurts. 

“I gotta…” he says, and waves at the window. His back to her, he pops the top two buttons of his fly, stifles the low noise that rises in his throat, snatches the binos off the table and peers at the brownstone, looking for movement. 

After a moment, he feels her directly behind him. His neck tingles and his shoulders tighten as he waits, listening. A breath of air as she moves. Her coat, he thinks, drops to the floor. 

Her warmth covers his back and her bare arms slide around him. One hand still holds her beer. The bottle is cold on his chest. The other finds his nipples. They harden under the light brush of her fingers across his shirt before she moves down, decisive and firm, massaging the heel of her hand over the bunched muscles of his abs and onto his erection. She strokes. He does groan then, very soft, and covers her hand with his own, trapping her against him. He shifts his hips, thrusting up. Her fingers curl around him. Squeeze and release. 

She says, “Can I see?” 

Booth takes the beer, takes a swig, and sets it down. He gives her the binos and draws her around in a slow spin, so now she’s standing in front of him, so close they are still touching, his arm around her waist. He parts the blinds for her, her breast nestled along his bicep. “The target is across the street, to the right. See the black door in the last brownstone?” 

She nods and leans back into him, still looking through the binos. He puts his hands on her hips and pulls her up tight. The curve of her bottom cups his heavy balls and his cock settles along the valley of her cheeks, blunt tip pressing up onto her lower back. 

He slides his hands to the rounded plane of her belly, can feel the crests of her iliums, like wings, he thinks. They glide under his palms until his fingers find the rise of her pubis. He can see it, in his mind’s eye, the beauty of her bones, the cradle of her pelvis, open, beneath strong sheets of flexing muscles, beneath the softness of her skin, beneath his hands. She sways and rocks him into her body in a way that makes him wish them both naked. Right now. 

He clears his throat, but his voice still emerges low and hoarse. “The techs are just there, just past the third streetlight, in the grey mini-van. It’s kinda hard…” 

“Hmmm,” she says. 

“… to see. God.” 

Rebecca laughs, a quiet quivering that makes him wrap his arms around her and bury his face in her neck. He inhales deep and she tips her head back onto his shoulder. He kisses her throat with an open mouth, flattening his tongue against her skin to taste her, and uses his teeth to make her squirm. 

She squeals and nearly drops the binoculars. The blinds twang and she gets one arm up around his neck. Her hand fists in his hair, She pulls his mouth down harder on her neck, gasping. He sucks her skin up for a second, holding her tight. She slides her ass down along his hard-on and then oh-so-slow moves up. The pressure blows into his brain, swirling bursts of colored light. He tears his mouth away. Lifts his head before he loses it and marks her neck like a teenager. 

She turns her face up, her lips parted, and he kisses her deep, darting in to taste her, Big Red and malt from the Guinness, lets her wash him away. The binoculars thud against the window frame and the blinds crinkle and then he really does stop, drawing in a deep breath, and another, but doesn’t let go of her. She tries to turn into him, but he stops her. 

He dips his head and kisses his way from her collarbone to her ear. “Anticipaaation,” he whisper-sings, and then licks the outer curve of her ear with the very tip of his tongue. She curls in on herself, giggling, lifting one leg, and he bends, curving his body to hers. The full court press feels so damn good, he has to close his eyes. Defense is what he needs. 

Greene, Holmes, Greenwood, she wriggles, White, Jack Ham, Russell, Lambert, straightens and bends again as he tickles her ribs, Blount, Thomas, he’s so fuckin’ hard against her tailbone, but his balls are low and full, hitting her soft heat, Edwards, Wagner. Greene, Holmes, Jesus, he wants to… 

He picks her up. 

“Seeley!” 

“Don’t drop the binos.” 

He stumbles sideways, gets his foot hooked on the wayward chair and scoots it closer to the window. He sit-falls onto it, and settles her on his lap, her legs between his knees, her weight exquisite. Too fast, this. He has to think to form words. “Look again. Tell me if you see any movement at all, even if it’s just a cat or something.” 

She twists on his lap, trying to see his face. “What are you going to be doing?” 

Wincing, he grunts and holds her still. When she complies to his unspoken demand, he waits a minute, his forehead pressed between her shoulder blades, for the fever to lift a little. His heart slows. He says “Hmmm…” and nuzzles her. He spreads his fingers over her thighs. Runs them onto her inner thighs and presses lightly as he nibbles on the juncture of her neck and shoulder. 

“Mmmm…” she answers and opens for him, shifting to lift her legs up and over his. He closes his knees and then widens them, experimenting with the spread of her thighs. He can actually feel the heat of her on the skin of his thumbs. He makes small circles with the tips of his fingers. Her thighs are firm and yielding. He thinks of them wrapped around his hips and thrusts up. The bunch of *his* thigh muscles jostles them together just so and they both moan. Booth feels the silly smile that breaks across his face, but can’t stop it. 

Balancing on her toes, Rebecca relaxes, tipping her pelvis forward, and melts onto him. Even through her slacks and his jeans, she’s hot against him. He wiggles to get more comfortable and feels another button on his fly give way. That’s so much better. 

Reaching out to part the blinds, she sighs, a sound of content, and lifts his binos to her eyes again. Light from the street stripes her body, by chance falling across her breasts like some exotic bandeau. Booth hasn’t felt so desperate in a very long time. 

He never thought to have a chance to fulfill this particular fantasy. Blow jobs in the cramped confines of his car can’t live up to all he wishes for and he’s never managed before to wrangle both a willing partner and solitude at the same time on this kind of assignment. He wants to make the most of it. Does he have a condom stashed in the Yukon anymore? He thinks there might be one in the dash. Maybe. He can check later. 

He trails his fingers over Rebecca’s already distended clit and up, catching the hem of her tank top. He drags it up slowly, watching over her shoulder as the light ripples. “Becca,” he breathes. She’s wearing the front-clasp bra he bought her on their third date. It’s sky-blue. He runs his finger over the familiar frayed spot on the underwire. The tops of her areolas are dark blushes of color peeking above the low, plunging cups. “You kept it.” 

She’s breathing hard. She stretches to set the binos down on the table and then arches her back, and rubs herself against him before sinking back again to hook her hands behind his neck. They kiss. He’s drowning, his palms and mouth filled with her. He kneads her breasts through the silky fabric, and then gently releases only her long, hard nipples. He rolls them between his thumb and forefinger. She gasps into his mouth and he smiles wide. Feels her lips smile back on his before she captures him again, sucks his tongue in and thrust her own against it. 

Her legs work in tandem with his own, the hard lines tensing and giving and shifting and tensing as they let themselves find a slow grind of teasing desire. She eases from the kiss and drops her head, her eyes closed and her mouth open. She covers his breast-filled hands with hers and throws her head back. 

As she slides one hand down to her clit, he moves, too, to wrap a fist in her hair. He pushes her down, so she leans far forward, her sex snug on his, and strokes his other hand down her back as he speeds up his rhythm. 

His thumb slides into the gaping vee between her lower back and her slacks, into the warm cleft there. She’s not wearing anything at all underneath. His hips buck hard of their own volition and startled, she sits up, crushing him between her and his half-open fly. 

“Ow! Ow, ow, ow.” 

Thank god, she stands, taking the pressure off. “Easy there, cowboy,” she says. She eyes his state of partial undress. “Want to take something off?” 

Booth glances at the apartment’s door and the thin chain there. He licks his lips and shakes his head. “Later. Maybe we can go back to my place. Let’s just…” He sticks his thumbs in his briefs and lets his cock pop free. Oh. Much, much better. “C’mere.” 

Rebecca turns all the way around and gives him a considering look, her head tilted to the right. “Those are… conservative,” she says. 

Booth looks down, at his dusky red rod emerging from his dark brown briefs. They just look dark in the striped light. Tess bought them for him. He bites his tongue before it slips and says, “They’re Hugo Boss,” instead. “They support.” 

“You so did not buy those yourself.” 

“They’re good for chasing bad guys in.” And they were clean and on top. 

Rebecca gives him her crooked smile, the one that says, I know you all to well and you are so full of shit, but she sinks to her knees anyway and reaches to pet him. She caresses the wet off the top with her thumb and snuggles her fist down around him. 

Letting his knees fall open, he shivers and he knows she knows it’s her that caused it. She’s so good at this. He stretches his legs out, enclosing her and she scoots forward into a better position. He smoothes the skin of her upper back as she stares up at him. She closes her fist. The tension in his belly swoops into his chest like a bird and his eyes and his fingers both close, holding it in. 

“Are you ready,” she says, and he hears the laughter in her voice. 

She pumps her fist slow, up and down, and seconds later he feels the wet flick of her tongue. He groans and when her mouth finally closes on just the tip, he has to look. Her hair is spread across his jean clad thighs. Every time her mouth bobs down, she takes a little more of him. Her tongue swirls and retreats, dips to taste of him, traces the veins and the seam and flicks across the ridges of his glans. And all the while her hand squeezes and twists and gives and moves, spreading her spit and his pre-come. 

He carefully tilts his hips, so he eases along her tongue and back and forth again, and again, as she sucks him in. He touches her, places his hands on her head, and barely touches her. Her hair is smooth and heavy, falling around her face and light as a feather as it brushes his belly every time he moves, and she moves, in and out. Hot mouth. Cool air. 

He sketches touches over her shoulders and arms and then the easiest of pressure on her head. Down. Deep. His balls ache, but she can’t reach them in his jeans. She’s hot and he’s ready and he really, really needs to check on the fucking brownstone. 

“Becca, hey, Becca…” he says and she lifts his cock higher off his belly with her hand and slides her mouth lower and fuck… She’s working him and herself, too, he realizes, mesmerized by the undulation of her hips. She sucks him in hard, her back rounded, and then slides up, and her hips pull down, arching her back, and then she sucks him in hard again, her face buried in the fabric of his jeans. His balls draw up even tighter. “Fuck.” 

He grabs her shoulders and pulls her up roughly. Her hand’s down her pants. “Seeley,” she says. 

He breaks. He yanks her pants down as she stumbles up to standing and he spills to the floor, pulling her forward, and opens his mouth to take her in. She’ll get squirrely, though, if he just takes her. He stops, holding her still, his fingers digging into her ass, and breathes on her. “Seeley,” she says again. 

He licks. Along her lips, around her clit, and then eases her in and suckles. She tangles her fingers in his hair and sways. He wants to lay her out, do it right, but he really, really needs to check on the brownstone. He breaks away. 

Leans back in. Licks. Spreads her open with his fingers and laps at her, accidentally ends up back on her clit. It’s hard. He abuses his tongue just to hear her moan, until he’s mostly supporting her weight, her knees digging into his shoulders. He’s pushing two fingers into her tight, tight, tight when the radio crackles. 

Grant says, “22493.” 

“Oh, God,” she says. “God, don’stop. 

Miller replies, “22493, check.” 

“Shhh,” Booth breathes against her. Her slick muscles clench around his fingers in response. He wants her to come and then he wants to fuck her hard, drive into her while she’s still pulsing, bring her back again to the edge with him. 

“20551.” 

He slips his fingers out of her, brushes his thumb up onto her clit in a quick circular motion of apology to the very center of her and… 

“20551, check.” 

… sets her away from him. Steadying her on her feet. 

“22075.” 

His knees pop as he lunges and scramble-crawls for the mike. 

“22075, check.” 

“22075, repeat.” 

Kneeling, Booth looks at Rebecca, who’s sitting on the cream berber carpet on her bare butt, unzipping her boots. He swallows a slug of the warming Guinness, takes a breath, keys the mike, and hopes. “22075, blue skies,” he enunciates, hoping he sounds normal. 

“21639.” 

“21639, check.” 

“Clear.” 

She laughs at him when he thumps his forehead onto the table in relief. She’s on her back now, her hips raised, pushing her pants the rest of the way off. “I am so horny,” she says. 

“Go ahead,” he says, watching her. 

She raises her brows. He looks at her, the mike still in his hand. His hard-on’s wilted, half flopped over. He reaches down and rearranges a bit, pulls his briefs up for comfort, but doesn’t do up his buttons. 

She turns her face to the ceiling, her lips pursing, and lifts her hands to her breasts, like she’s underwater. She teases herself, tracing circles over her bra, across and down her torso, torturing him. Getting serious, she pushes her breasts together, gives them a good rub and then pops the front clasp. The bra explodes as her girls bounce free. 

Booth groans, and his cock throbs, fighting off the adrenaline still coursing through his veins. She tweaks her nipples, pulling on them harder than she lets him. “That’s hot,” he says. His voice sounds way more normal than he thinks it ought. 

She smiles at him and lets her hand wander down. “Anytime you’re ready, Agent Booth.” 

“Yeah,” he agrees, and forces himself to turn away. He stands up and scans the street in both directions. The night’s earlier cold breeze is picking up, tossing a scattering of fine rain drops on the window pane. 

Through the binos, he takes a good look at the geek squad, staying dark out there like good squints, all the doors and windows closed. Teeth must be chattering by now. Two cars have left, and a red Chevy Lumina, probably a 2000, maybe a 2001, is pulled in on the curb just below his stakeout. He can’t tell if there’s still a driver inside, but the car’s turned off and the lights are out. Probably parked for the night. 

He listens to the low sounds Rebecca’s making to get his attention. There’s a radio playing somewhere below them, something with a rolling drum. He swings the binos to the brownstone and checks every window before roaming the sidewalks again. He lowers them and glances up and down the street once more. Focusing now behind him, he hears Becca whisper, “Seeley, c’mon, Seeley.” 

He turns and meets her eyes. They’re wide, but dreamy, unfocused, her mouth is open. His heart stutters and a fierce surge of possession closes his lungs and carries him across the floor. She’s gorgeous and whole and when he’s with her, she swallows him up. 

She stretches her arm up and catches his calf. Tugs him down. “Kiss me.” He kneels, leans across her to brace himself on his fists and does just that, devoting all of himself to her mouth. He feels her hand speed up and her hips respond. He lowers himself to cover her, grounding her. 

“Seeley.” 

He rolls onto his side, and hugs her to him so her back’s against his front, his upper arm cradling her head, and adds the pressure of his hand to hers, moving hard on her clit as she throws her leg back over his thigh. 

She’s wide open to him, and bends her knee to give him better access. Without pause, he pushes two fingers straight into her. She yelps. She’s tight and hot and wet. She thrusts and grinds, ricocheting between the motion of his hand and the underwear bound hardness of his cock. He’s dying to just fuck her, but there’s time for that, yet. After the next radio check. 

“Seeley,” she says, and bites his arm. He moves his fingers in her, ramming them in, pulling them out in time to her beat, using his thumb to add to her own efforts above. He adds his ring finger, has to spread his two fingers already inside her and push. She pants and squirms, and tightens around him. She pumps, pumps, pumps onto him, wanting to take what he can offer. 

He presses his head against hers when she thrashes and twists, closes her legs, and clenches her thighs over his hand pounding into her. “That’s it,” he whispers. “Come Becca, I want to feel it, I want to feel you all over me, so wet, so wet.” He drives his fingers in, deeper, harder, bends them, and spreads them and pushes. 

She moans and slows her hand, from frantic to measured as her body tightens in his arms. 

“Oh yeah, that’s it," he says, "You are so tight, baby, so tight, come, baby.” He pinches her nipple and he curls his fingers over inside her, curls them deep inside her as she starts to ripple. Hand fucks her faster, holding her hard against him. He jerks his hips, pistoning his cock between their writhing bodies. 

“Ah,” she shouts, craning her head back, “Fuck! Fuck!” Her heels drill his shins but he holds what he’s got, as she clamps down on his hand hard. It hurts. He can only keep two fingers in as she comes; she’s strong, but he’s stronger. 

He rolls partway over, pinning her between him and his arm, one hand still on her breast, his other hand still beneath her, her walls still contracting, and dry humps the valley of her ass. 

His bare upper cock sticks to her flushed skin and it pulls, and hurts, but feels so damn good he can’t stop, can’t stop, he slides his fingers from her and finds her hip, shoves her down hard, humps her hard and comes, in a slamming surf of excruciating pleasure. 

Rebecca shudders and eases, going quiet. 

He’s stunned. He can’t move. They breathe together. Three breaths, he allows himself, and kicks them over, on his back. She fights him for a moment, but he hangs on and she suddenly gives in and lets him hold her. 

Sorry, he rubs her pubis, large, light circles as she comes down. When he bumps her clit, her whole body jerks. She stretches and then hugs his arm, moving her mouth over his bicep in big, wet, open mouth kisses, pushing back on his still throbbing cock in languid waves of motion. 

“Why didn’t I marry you again?” 

His cell phone rings. 

She says, “Oh, yeah,” without temper. 

Oh, yeah, he thinks. He strips off his tee, fumbles with the holster clipped to the waistband of his jeans, and by the time he gets his cell opened, they’re both sitting up, and Rebecca’s fishing for the ends of her bra. 

“Booth,” he says, placing his index finger between her breasts so she can’t fasten her bra clasp. He hasn’t even kissed them yet. 

“They got a body for you, Booth,” Sully says, cheerfully. 

“What?” 

He lets go and shrugs at her, shaking his head. Her brow dips, an almost frown. 

“Something that’s almost nothing, now, in Anacostia Park.” 

Booth is silent. He wipes Rebecca’s lower back off with his shirt, expecting Sully to explain more. 

“I’ll be there to relieve you in, say, ten minutes.” 

“What? Wait, it’s almost midnight. I’ll call, it can wait ” 

Rebecca grabs her pants and springs up. 

Sully makes a sound, like a snort, maybe, and says, “Well, you can try, I’m coming over anyway,” and hangs up. 

Before he can even react, the phone rings again in his ear. It’s dispatch with his body and no, it can’t wait, the locals and the NPS have their boxers in a wad and want it off their plate, now, if they can’t have it. Besides, the rain’s changing over to sleet and there’ll be snow on the ground by morning. Go. Booth flips his phone closed. He dabs absently at his belly with the balled up tee still in his hand. 

Rebecca’s dressed, has even got her coat on when she emerges from the bathroom. 

“I’m sorry,” he offers. 

She leans in on her tippy toes and kisses his cheek. “I’m fine, Booth. That was… we always did that well. I’ll have Parker call you tomorrow night, okay?” 

He nods and climbs to his feet while she claims her six-pack and the opened bottle. She chugs the beer, tucks the bottle in the case, rocks back on her heels, and looks at the radio. “Okay,” she says to it. 

Booth leans in until she’s forced to meet his eyes and then he kisses her. 

He trails her to the door and opens it for her. 

“Can you find your car okay?” 

“I’m fine. I’ll have Parker call, tomorrow,” she says again. 

“Don’t worry, I’ll answer the phone.” 

“You always do,” she says. 

And she always knows just what to say to hurt him. 

He watches her all the way down the hall, but she never looks back. For a minute there, he’d thought maybe she was really saying be careful, be there to answer the phone, but she was really just saying fuck you. He closes the door. Weary to the bone, his knees vaguely sore, he leans back against it before it occurs to him that he’s still on stakeout. 

He scoops up his shirt, shakes it out and tugs it on. Under his jacket, it’ll be fine until he gets in the Yukon and changes. 

He flips his phone open and hits three. He’s scanning the sidewalks with his binos when she answers. 

“Hey, Bones,” he says, “We’ve got a body.”

 


End file.
